THE LIFE OF CARDO

(Excerpt) Amadio T Daguio

The evening was falling, and as I walked to the farther end of the cemetery, I thought I had heard a low cry. I was a little startled. Then I saw the form of a man. It was Cardo. He was crying over a grave. I recognized him because of his ugly, distorted body like the balete. I touched his shoulders.He moved. Then in the dusk I saw him smile that radiant smile of his that babies lived so much. But something seemed to creep in my blood. Why are you here" " I asked. " Yes." Only that ghostly "yes" for an answer. "Your dead?' He smiled. "You know, he answered. And he told me the tale of his life. A tale filled with the mysteries of life, full of passion and desire and yet of sweetness. " I was a seeker after the meaning of life, "he told me. " I wanted to know if life is dreaming or living and dying. I saw the many beautiful things of the world, like flowers and their perfumes, sunsets. While I myself, was distorted and ugly. Ugly face, ugly feet, twisted, gnarledI look like the devil. In my childhood they named me, screamed at me: "Judas! Judas! Judas! I prayed-better than they. Only, I was ugly. Only for that did they call me Judas. "Why?" I asked myself, I wanted to know why they called me Judas and why they admired what was perfect and beautiful, what was charming and good. Why I, too, admired what was good. And why they hated me because I was nothing but a freak of God. Might I not know? " And I went away. I was lonely-among strange men and in strange places. Still they jeered at me, laughed at me. Called me Judas and other dirty names. I was even put in prison. They accused me of having stolen something. But might I not learn, why? Why? Might I not? " I looked at the beauty of women. Of beautiful women. What was in them that they were admired and married by men? I glanced at many pretty portraits by artists, at drawings of naked women. Why did I desire beauty? What was this beauty in life that others fight and die for? Might I not know? "Then, I do not know-I leaned on a post one day and learned to smile. I smiled at women then and held them spellbound. They began to look at me with worshipping eyes. Had I turned into a God? They began to smile at me. I smiled at a young girl with bright eye. She smiled. She was slender like the lily. I wondered: what did she find in me who am only a freak of God? Had I beauty within the soul of me? I wondered I wanted to know. I was a seeker for the truth of life." "She married you?" Yes. Yes, I do not know why. I had nothing to show to her to attract her. And she was glorious. But she saw, perhaps, what was beautiful in me, too, what was beautiful in my ugliness that I did not know. Perhaps it was the beauty of the spirit and the intelligence, the soul unhampered in its search for truth. And she fell, perhaps, only in that light "I caught the magic of her beauty; I took wholly from her by my own ugliness. I told her I was Judas and she answered by crying. Why should I say that, she asked me, when she loved me? When I was kind? And beautiful? I wondered . I laughed. Beautiful? Me? I laughed again "Then we had a baby. The baby smiled at me. Did it smile because I, his father, was ugly? Called Judas? I wanted to know that-and I knowI know..." "What do you know?" "My son smiled at me and I know" Without getting his meaning, I asked: "And they are dead?" "Yes" he answered. "They were both beautiful. They died. Why did they die? I wanted to know that also. I am a seeker of the truth of life. I wanted to know. So I smiled at little children to find the secret. And the women looked at me fearing. Why were they so happy in their children? Why did God take them and he did not take the others? I was kind to my wife and child. I loved them and they loved me inspite of my ugliness. Why were they taken from me? I asked God. I asked myself. "So I smiled at little babies because in them my baby's smile became mine. And the mothers looked at me with hate. I am a witch, they accuse me. Why should they say that? What is life? They beat me-I shed blood. I do not die. What power makes me live? I want to know that too. Why can't they kill me? And why can't I fight, why can I only suffer and keep smiling at babies?"

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For an answer I scratched my head and he smiled again. He shall live on uncaring, beaten shedding bloodbut wanting to knowwhat is lifeIs there something in life so good, so beautiful that we can never know?

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